There Was No Planning For Any of This

I wiped the sweat from my face and took a long swig of water. I’d been running on our elliptical machine, working out the stress and frustration of yet another day. Brian and his band mates were practicing in the basement, and the pups were curled up in the corner of our office/workout room. All in all, it was a pretty typical fall night.

Except.

I was feeling unmoored. So I put headphones in and cranked the worship music. I needed to ground myself in what I knew was true. During my run I could feel it building, feel something in me about to break.

As I stepped off the elliptical to stretch, I found myself face-down on the carpet, unable to move.

*

Two months earlier, Brian told me he wanted to quit his job at one of the biggest bank and mortgage brokers in the country. To go back to school. To be a barber. To work in a shop 3 hours north from where we lived.

Um.

What?

The edges of burnout were creeping up on both of us, and I knew he wasn’t happy at his job. But this? This felt extreme. Ridiculous. Selfish. There was no way to do what he wanted and keep the career I had—a career I’d worked hard to build and couldn’t imagine leaving.

We prayed. A LOT. We fasted. We asked those wiser for advice. And God clearly showed us what he wanted: To leave it all behind and go north.

Honestly, it terrified me. I mean, what was I going to do way up there? So for two months I dug my heels in, praying there was a loophole or a back door or something that would keep us where we were. Yes, I wanted God’s will to be done. But I wanted it done in a reasonable and predictable way, a way I could control and measure and plan around. I didn’t want it at the cost of my comfort or the identity I’d built for myself.

*

When I stepped off the elliptical machine, it felt like I’d stepped into an ocean of Power and Love. There was a gentle weight, a Presence, inviting me to stay. It’s as if my heart was suddenly harmonizing with a Master Melody, and I was overcome with the beauty and intimacy and glory swirling just behind the veil of my physical senses.

In the warmth of that Love, I poured out my heart—my fears and insecurities and hopes and doubts. I could no longer cling to my false sense of control or identity or comfort. And when I felt emptied, I lay in silent awe and worship.

I don’t know how long I stayed on the floor of our office. Eventually, like waves, I could feel the moment receding, and I sat up, feeling full of a quiet, assured Peace.

I knew my life was never going to look the same again.

After the band left, I told Brian that I was ready to say yes to this crazy plan, and the next day he told his boss.

*

In the months that followed came the hard work of untangling and uprooting ourselves from our current life. It seemed we hit unforeseen, unpredictable problems and roadblocks every time we turned around. So I made a two-and-half year plan, allowing us time to save and pay things off and get our house ready to sell and all the other things that needed to happen before jumping on the crazy train.

Then God turned that plan into a 10-month plan.

Every problem we encountered, every obstacle we ran into, was miraculously solved without us doing anything. Finances and details inexplicably fell into place.

Before our house was even on the market, someone approached us, asking to buy it. As is. We lived on one income, paid for Brian’s school out of pocket, AND paid off all our other debts and loans before we moved–things we didn’t think we could do on TWO incomes.

And then, after six years of living under the tyranny of infertility, we found out I was pregnant—no meds, no injections, no implantations.

There was no planning for any of this.

*

That night I spent face-down on the floor was a watershed moment for me. I learned what it really means to surrender. Like Abraham, I put my most precious possessions and promises on the stones and sticks of the alter I had made, then stood holding the torch.

Some of it was given back to me. And some of it was consumed in the refining fire to make room for better things. Things I never would have imagined. Things that could only be born out of the ashes of a sacrificial offering.

*

I have never felt more out of control of my life as I do these days. Every time Henry is in the in hospital because he can’t breathe. Every time Elyas is having days of overwhelm and we just can’t seem to get through to him and there is so much screaming and crying. Every time I reach the edges of myself and my marriage and the mortality of my children.

But I am learning how to exchange control for surrender. Planning for trusting. Hands closed tight in fear for hands held open wide in Hope.

I’m learning how to purposefully, prayerfully, lay all that I have, all that I am, on the alter. My identity. My husband. My kids. Our house. Our finances and possessions and resources. My talents. My time. I offer it all up, asking that His Kingdom come, His will be done. Here. In our hearts. In our home. In our lives.

*

I have never felt as much peace as I do these days. In the valleys of the shadow I sense His protection and provision. I see it play out in crazy, miraculous ways in our everyday life. The day our water pump broke last fall we received a random letter from a friend with a check for the EXACT amount needed to replace the pump and tank. When the doctors told us Henry was going deaf and would need hearing devices, we prayed. Then, during the brain stem test to determine the level/type of help he’d need, they were stunned to find he had perfect hearing—better than most neuro-typical kids. When Izzy, our resilient pup got sick, they said she had days to live. When she miraculously recovered, they said no dog has lived more than two years in her condition. It’s been over three years and she’s still running circles around us.

And the list goes on.

I love and serve a God of manna and oil jars and fishes and loaves. It doesn’t mean that life is easy. But it does mean that where there is fear and hardship and sorrow, there is also an invitation to surrender.

To recklessly trust.

To offer all I have and receive more than I could ever imagine.